Love Bites (15 page)

I
’ll give you one thing, Percival,” Cador drawled. “You do know how to put on a spread.”

“Jesu, yes,” Marrok rasped, lust raw in his voice.

“By the way, Morgana made arrangements with Gwen to add a regeneration spell to that collar of hers,” Percival told them. “She assures me she could feed all three of us, and the collar would heal her blood loss.”

Cador straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Well, now, that’s convenient.”

Percival didn’t blame them for the heated anticipation in their eyes. Just looking at Morgana was enough to make his own cock buck hungrily behind his jeans’ button fly.

The witch lay draped over the padded bench like an erotic offering to a dark god. The light spilling from discreet ceiling lamps made the pink, fragrant flesh glisten between those well-toned thighs.

“God, she’s wet,” Marrok muttered. “I can smell it.”

So could Percival. The maddening scent of her need had been teasing him since she’d walked in the door, already so hot for him it was all he could do not to throw her down and fuck her in mindless animal rut.

He would have expected her to be anxious, knowing how utterly she was at their mercy. Especially considering the way she’d tormented them for so long.

There was a dark satisfaction in the sight of her naked and bound to the bench he’d built. Those gorgeous breasts rode her delicate ribcage, bare and pale and full, plump nipples flushed dark rose, seeming to beg for his lips, his tongue . . .

His fangs.

He studied her hungrily. The bench was built in four sections that could be raised or lowered to position the submissive’s body according to her dominant’s whim. It was currently arranged to raise her breasts higher than her head, which was thrown back to rest on a padded section, forcing her throat into an elegant and tempting arch. Her black hair spilled to the floor in a gleaming mass of curls. Her legs were bent and spread wide, then chained to the bench’s stirrup-shaped footrests, which jutted at an angle to either side. Her arms hung down, wrists clipped to ankle-cuffs.

But that wasn’t all he’d done to enhance her sense of vulnerability. A blindfold covered her vivid green eyes, hiding half of her face even as it drew attention to the lips she’d coated in glistening scarlet lipstick.

He’d been having repeated fantasies of plunging his cock into that crimson mouth, watching her suck him with that wicked skill of hers. Skill that perversely infuriated him with the thought of the men she must have practiced it on.

He’d never in his life felt this primal possessiveness for a woman. Though he supposed that was no surprise. Morgana had been his obsession for so many centuries, no other woman had ever really registered on his consciousness. He’d fucked them, punished them, fed from them, shared them with his brothers.

And dreamed of Morgana, naked and pale and at his mercy. Only to wake alone, gasping and frustrated, with a puddle of come cooling on his belly.

Now, at last, he had her. He’d fucked her mouth, pussy, and arse, drank from her pale swan’s throat and delicious nipples. The obsession should have started to fade by now. It hadn’t. He still hungered for her with such intensity, he was beginning to suspect it might take the entire year to burn off this gnawing need.

Look at the trouble he was having with the idea of sharing her with his brothers. These were the men he’d fought and bled and damned near died beside more times than he could count. How many times had they shared fantasies of taking her, about the grip of her body and the taste of those gorgeous nipples. They’d gotten drunk more than once speculating about what it would be like to punish and fuck her.

But now that the moment was here, all he wanted to do was sweep a blanket over her, hiding her from their lusting eyes.

Mine
.
My mate. Mine alone.

No,
Percival told the primitive wolf in his head.
She’s just a submissive, like all the others I’ve shared with Cador and Marrok. The only difference is we’ve waited longer to have her
.

The wolf snorted in disdain, but he ignored it to saunter toward the sectional arranged around Morgana’s exquisite body, bound to the bench, ready for their pleasure.

Percival gave his brothers a determined smile as Cador and Marrok sank down on the couch, staring hungrily at Morgana’s delicious curves. “Anybody want a beer?”

*   *   *

M
organa could almost feel their eyes on her bare breasts, her stiff rose nipples, and the arch of her throat and spread of her thighs. She wished she could see them, but she was blindfolded.

The length of soft leather not only covered her eyes, it bound her head in place to the padded bench. Between the strap around her head and the cuffs at her wrists and ankles, she had never felt more helpless.

Before he’d covered her eyes, she’d noticed the bench was a surprisingly beautiful piece of furniture, exquisitely carved with writhing female nudes, chained and lush and tangled together until it was difficult to tell where one woman left off and another began.

Like Morgana and her painting, most members of the Magekind had hobbies of one sort or another. Percival’s hobby, he’d cheerfully informed her, was building and carving bondage devices like this one.

He’d certainly done a good job with it. Percival had designed the bench with a dominant’s obsessive attention to his submissive’s comfort. Its padding was thick and soft, its sections just wide enough to support her bound body.

Across the room, the enormous flat-screen television came on, filling the room with the cheers of the stadium crowd and the jovial commentary of the game’s announcers.

By rights, of course, the set shouldn’t be able to get any kind of signal in the Mageverse, but an elaborate system of enchanted devices picked up satellite signals on Earth, then transmitted them to Avalon, where they were bounced to all the city’s residents.
And why the hell am I thinking about magical satellite feeds when my team is about to fuck my brains out?

“God, you’re hot,” Cador said. Male fingers closed over one nipple, tugged, tightening right to the bright edge of pain. Percival had ordered Morgana to keep her mouth shut, so she said nothing as she instinctively arched her back to relieve the pressure. “She does have sensitive tits, doesn’t she?” He captured the other nipple, began to give it the same delicately sadistic treatment. His voice dropped into a sinister purr. “I just love long, rosy nipples with a low pain threshold. There’s so much you can do to them . . .”

Her cunt tightened with another juicy spurt of heat. Cador’s erotic cruelty made her want to squirm.

Meanwhile, in marked contrast to his partner’s sensual sadism, Marrok began to explore her with slow, sweeping caresses, his fingers gentle on the sensitive skin of her belly, the rise of one hip, the straining tendons of her spread thighs. “Her skin’s so soft,” the knight murmured, more to himself than Cador. “For such an ice bitch, she feels like warm silk.”

An
ice bitch
? That stung more than Cador’s torment of her nipples. Though thinking about the way she’d always treated the knights, she supposed it was a fair assessment.
I was afraid to let you get close
, Morgana thought. She didn’t say it. She was vulnerable enough to them as it was.

She heard the click of Percival’s boots on the hardwood as he returned with the beer, then the clink of bottles as he passed them out. Leather sighed as he sat down on the sectional.

Something icy settled between her thighs. She jerked with a startled gasp.

“Thought that hot pussy needed cooling off,” Percival told her, dark amusement in his voice as he rolled the beer over her labia. Bits of ice slid down the crack of her arse, melting in her heat.

“You’re one lucky bastard, you know that?” Cador told him, and paused. She heard him swallow, presumably a sip of his beer. “Getting to keep her for the next year. A whole year to fuck and punish the pretty slut.” Judging by the lilt in his voice, he was grinning that sadistic fox grin of his. “If you run out of ideas, I can give you a few suggestions.”

Percival snorted and removed the icy bottle from between her legs. “I’m sure you could, you vicious son of a bitch.” He inhaled deeply. “God, smell that pussy. Scent of it’s all over my beer.”

“Maybe we should punish her for that,” Cador suggested wickedly. “Getting her Master’s bottle all stinky.”

Percival snorted. “‘Stinky’ is not exactly the word I’d use, Cador. And I doubt you would either.”

“Hell, no, but we don’t have to tell
her
that.”

“As I’ve told Morgana, I don’t need an excuse to beat her pretty arse.” He swallowed a few sips of his beer deliberately. “Though she has given me some very good reasons lately. Which is why you’ll probably like my idea of a halftime show.”

Cador laughed, the sound nasty. “Can’t wait.”

Morgana, listening to this predatory conversation, had to fight the impulse to roll her hips in need.

“Poor little slave,” Marrok crooned to her in a dark whisper. “At the mercy of such a nasty pair of blackguards.” His mouth closed over her nipple, still aching from Cador’s rough treatment. He sucked, nibbled, licked, sending sweet ribbons of delight from her breasts to her creaming pussy. “You’ll find me a much kinder lover.”

His free hand brushed between her thighs, one finger stroking her clit on the way to delving between her creamy labia. When he stroked deep, she had to suck back a gasp and fight down the impulse to squirm.

She’d always secretly considered Marrok as deliciously sexy—so damned big, so powerfully built and impressively endowed.

So capable of bloody, appalling violence when he went berserk.

And yet he could also be sweetly tender. Of all of them, Marrok was the one who dealt with the traumatized victims they encountered far too often. Survivors—whether of terrorist attacks, natural disasters, war, or even torture—seemed to find something soothing about Marrok’s low, warm voice and kind eyes. They somehow sensed they were safe in the protection of his massive frame. Morgana didn’t have that ability to comfort without being overcome by a victim’s pain.

Now as he stroked her pussy and suckled and tongued her nipple, she sighed at the keen delight.

Only to draw in a startled breath when he caught her nipple under the tips of his fangs. He didn’t quite bite, but the promise—and threat—was definitely there.

A cheer came from the direction of the television, and the announcer crowed, “Touchdown!” in such triumphant tones, you’d have thought he made the play himself.

“Where’s your toy box?” Marrok asked Percival over inane color commentary from the TV.

“Here you go.” It rattled from her left to overhead as if the knight had handed it over. The lid creaked open somewhere on the right. Morgana’s mouth went dry during the pause as she wondered exactly what Marrok was looking for. Anticipation tightened her muscles, and she felt herself growing steadily wetter.

“Let me see that when you get done with it, would you?” Cador asked Marrok.

Rattle. Thump
.
Rattle.
“Have at it.”

“Thanks.” Rattle. Pause. “Oh, now
that
has potential.” A soft click. The hiss of a wick catching fire, the faint smell of smoke.

Another, louder click, and something began to hum. A boot heel scraped on hardwood, and the hum traveled around her body to between her thighs.

“And the field goal’s good!” the announcer shouted over the crowd’s delirious cheers.

Morgana tensed. She had a pretty good idea what Cador planned to do with that candle. The only question was why he hadn’t done it yet . . .

The humming tip of Marrok’s vibrator found the opening of her pussy and pushed deep in a single juicy stroke. Which was when Cador, with diabolical timing, spilled a stream of molten wax squarely over the tip of her nipple. The burning heat jerked her back into an arch. “Shit!”

Percival growled in a voice ripe with arousing menace, “Unless you want to add even more strokes to the punishment session I owe you, you’d better keep that luscious mouth shut.”

Knowing her dominant meant that threat, Morgana set her teeth as Cador started painting wax over her right breast like a sadistic Jackson Pollock—curves and splashes and a vicious swirling pattern she suspected was his initials.

She tried to divert her attention to the vibrator Marrok was thrusting in and out of her cunt in long, maddening strokes. Unfortunately, the pain was just too intense for the trick to work.

At least Cador seemed to know what he was doing. You could inflict some nasty burns with molten wax if you dropped it from the wrong height or used the wrong kind of candle. No surprise the sadistic fuck seemed to be an expert; the wax was definitely unpleasantly hot, but not to the point of injury.

Vibrator,
Morgana reminded herself.
Concentrate on the vibrator
. While she’d been distracted by Cador and his wax, Marrok had buried the toy in her pussy and left it there.

Clothing rustled. She thought the big knight was preparing something, but couldn’t quite identify the sounds over the roar of the game.